


Melancholia

by SilverRollu



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Love, Other, Platonic Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-26
Updated: 2017-05-26
Packaged: 2018-11-05 02:08:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11003763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverRollu/pseuds/SilverRollu
Summary: For Noctis, love has never been large or grand. Love had always been a soft yet all encompassing emotion, and it had always come easy, and it had always been there.--in the aftermath of chapter 9 (spoilers abundant)





	Melancholia

**Author's Note:**

> wrote this at like 2am a few days before i actually beat the game. so it's of questionable content but i cant bring myself to chop it
> 
> i takes my own liberties with canon i guess

When Noctis sees Luna’s would be wedding dress on display in all it’s white laced grace, he thinks it’d look better if it were blue. Luna was so proud of the sylleblossom’s deep, rich color that it has been embedded deeply in Noctis’ mind: Blue — _childhood_ — _happiness_ — _Luna_. Blue could be the color of his blood, pumping endlessly through his body, and he would not be surprised.

 ***

For Noctis, love has never been large or grand. Love had always been a soft yet all encompassing emotion, and it had always come easy, and it had always been there. Love was the warmth in his father’s voice when he told him embellished battle stories, to soothe him when he was injured. It was Gladio’s strict training regimen, his gruff but oddly gentle way of encouraging him to improve. It was in the way Ignis would bring freshly made pastries for him to snack on following a lengthy scolding, or right before, as it were sometimes. It was the weight of an arm around his shoulder, when the child from years ago finally told him his name and called him Noct, like he was just The Prince anymore. He was Noct and Prompto was Prompto, and that was it’s own form of love.

They made flower crowns; years ago he had met Luna, who was a few years his senior, and she showed him how to fashion a crown from the best blossoms Tenebrae had to offer. She had always been enveloped in a bright light, and Noct had been quickly convinced that she could light their star all by herself with her smile.

She knew everything. She had many stories to tell, even when they went right over his head. And when she smiled her eyes rolled up at the edges like they were smiling too, like they were holding back a secret he wasn’t privy to yet.

Upon careful consideration though, he isn’t sure he was ready to get married. He wanted peace, and he wanted to see Luna, and so it all fit together like pieces of a puzzle he’d been trying to crack for ages. A crumbling ensemble, each piece the right shape but not quite the right size, jammed into holes they were never meant to fill. When he thought of marriage he thought of… nothing at all. When he thought of Luna he thought of warmth, secrets, a presence washing over him like soft ocean waves, a weightless blanket.

And it hurts when he sobs, all choked up with nothing to soothe it. There’s another hole ripped into this carefully woven tapestry of love, this small but intricate creation formed from his beating heart. His father had taken a rather large patch with him, and as he feels the weight of Luna’s death looming about him he realizes the gap has grown twice in size. Torn unceremoniously, ripped, ragged at the edges and he can’t sew or crochet or knit to save anything.

He feels cold all over and he thinks, maybe he should’ve gone in her place. And he thinks, when he knows he doesn’t have the time for it, that had she stuck around they could still get married now.

He could open his own veins to free the wilting flowers within, and dye her dress blue with them.

 

It’d look better that way.


End file.
